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Beneath the cloak of the frosty night,

The forest weeps with a mournful sight,

For leaves have fallen, their vibrant hue,

Replaced by glaze, crystal and blue

The once vibrant meadows, now wear a shroud,

Of sorrow and desolation, woven proud,

As the sun hidden, its warmth held at bay,

A sorrowful dance begins to sway.

The barren branches reach out in despair,

Their nakedness a testament to the air,

No songs of birds, no creatures' playful call,

Just the haunting echoes of a winter's pall.

Yet, within this darkness, beauty resides,

A silver moonlight that softly glides,

Projecting shadows that dance with graceful grace,

In the stillness of this enchanted place.

For even sorrow has its own allure,

A soulful beauty that's hard to ignore,

In the winter forest's gloomy embrace,

We find relief in its somber grace.

In the winter forest, where sorrow lies,

To cast its spell upon the silent trees,

And freeze the heart with his cold breeze.